


weapons

by strandedAeronaut



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, the un is full of politicians, vague medical stuff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 04:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10655325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedAeronaut/pseuds/strandedAeronaut
Summary: i dunno i woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't go back to sleep so i wrote this and fixed it up in the morning. hope u enjoy





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i dunno i woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't go back to sleep so i wrote this and fixed it up in the morning. hope u enjoy

Jesse is headed for the cybernetics department because Genji was in for upgrades and he always needed support after, even if he didn’t admit it. When he arrives a few of the brass are there, to see the upgrades. They’d want a demonstration. Scientists bustle around, checking datapads and adjusting equipment. Angela is there, fielding questions. They ask why not cover all of him in armor, hide his eyes with a visor. It would be more practical, wouldn’t it, they say, and Jesse hears wouldn’t it be nice to erase the little humanity he has left, so we don’t have to see the man, only the weapon. Hanzo may have been the one to kill Genji, but the suits revive and kill him again every day and call it a mercy.

He remembers Reyes pleading his case to the brass, ten years ago. Jesse was supposed to die with all the rest of them, neatly and tidily clearing away the unsightly pox on the world that was Deadlock. But Reyes had left him alive, and forced them to remember that every evil, godforsaken organization he broke up was made of people, real people, and that they so casually told him to kill every one of them, oh, and do it quietly, we don’t want anyone to know. In their eyes, Jesse was Gabe’s mistake, not a product of the Crisis and all the things the world’s leaders had overlooked in its wake in favor of patching up their reputations. They couldn’t kill him now, not out of combat; that would be unethical. But leaving him alive was a loose end, and they couldn’t have that. Reyes defended him, appealed to their empathy, reminded them that he was a child soldier, a victim, a kid who’d been forced into a terrible situation.

One of the very few times Jesse had ever seen Reyes truly taken aback was when they had waved all that aside and asked what Jesse could do. They agreed it was terribly unfortunate, oh, yes, but Reyes, you always have a plan, what can he offer as an asset? Asset. That’s the word they used to refer to a seventeen year old kid. The same word they used to refer to a man they had picked apart and rebuilt into something they could use like a tool.

Angela comes up with a sufficiently scientific sounding answer and they nod, offering more questions. They don’t notice Jesse leaning against the wall, probably because they don’t like to acknowledge Blackwatch members unless they need some dirty work done, or maybe because he’d stolen a lab coat and swapped out his usual hat and kit for a pair of low-power reading glasses and a meek demeanor. He’d kept his gun, of course. Angela spotted him mid-conversation, and he gave her a wide, slow grin. She usually let him stay, as long as he didn’t touch anything and didn’t bother anyone too much.

Genji sat on the table, legs drawn up. He stared, unblinking, at the suits, and a few subconsciously shift away from him. He allows the scientists to take readings and samples without resistance, except Jesse can read the stiffness in his movements and the slight tightening around his eyes. He wants this over as soon as possible, and is a hair’s breadth away from ending it early. Jesse wonders, absently, just how badly Overwatch and the UN would be crippled if he did, by doing what they designed him to do. Genji’s eyes flick towards him, and Jesse offers a smaller but more genuine smile than the one for Angela. Genji nods, a small movement, and moves the fingers of his right hand for the scientist at his elbow.

The scientists finish their tests, and the brass run out of questions. He finds it funny in an awful way that not one of them had asked Genji a question about his own workings. Genji hops off the table and heads for the training room, where a few practice drones wait. The suits gather at the glass wall dividing the rooms, eager to see their funding at work. Genji stands in the center of the room, and tilts his head left, then right, as if popping his neck. It’s an old habit from when he had an organic neck to pop, and Jesse guesses he probably kept it for old time’s sake. He did stuff like that, from time to time, to remind himself he was still human. The drones started up, and Genji made quick work of them, flipping off walls in long arcs as the suits oohed and aahed. They mobbed Angela with more questions as Genji returned. Several scientists attempted to shepherd him back to the table, but he pushed past them, heading for the exit.

Jesse opens the door for him, and they’re out before anyone can object loudly enough for something to happen. The hallway is far quieter, and smells less of antiseptic. Genji’s shoulders visibly relax.

“Contact?” Jesse asks, and Genji considers for a moment before nodding. Jesse loops an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close as they walk. He starts talking about something else, anything else, until the cybernetics department is far behind.


	2. days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i did another one

Genji has good days, and bad days, and worse days. On good days he is a bright star, eyes crinkling mischievously at the corners, laying out the game plan for the best prank they’d come up with yet. His laugh is infectious, honest, bubbling out of him in a rush. He stands tall, challenging the world to take its best shot. He spends days in the gym lounging by the sparring mats, offering a fight to any who dare to try. He goes easy on them, but still wins by a wide margin, and his laughter echoes around the room as he helps them to their feet and greets the next. Later they play video games together, though not always the same games- often they’ll sit next to one another while Genji plays fighting games and Jesse plays slower story-based games, and yell reactions at one another. They spend hours at night just talking, about anything and everything, and fall asleep tangled together. On his best days, Genji does not dream.

On bad days he is still a star, just as bright, but his light burns. He takes offense at any errant comment, snarling away his friends and throwing insults like knives for the smallest errors. It’s frustration, Jesse knows. Genji’s senses are skewed, sight and hearing and smell amplified and touch dampened, and it’s disorienting. He’s easily overwhelmed by it, sometimes, and it gives him a hair trigger. A peaceful conversation can turn around completely in the span of a few seconds. His laugh has an edge to it, a bitter, sardonic, mocking edge that cut like his swords. Jesse understands. He’d had similar reactions, when Gabe proved to be an endless well of quiet support as Jesse railed against him, trying to bait him into snapping and pushing him away, because if anyone else was going to abandon him it would be on his terms. Gabe just laughed, asked him if he felt tough for being a bitter little asshole, and told him to get on with his stretches or he’d get cramps later. When he was older he’d apologized, and Gabe had patted him on the back and said his insults were terrible anyway. Genji is better at very personal insults than Jesse had been, but understanding where they came from lessened the impact. He draws boundaries, makes sure he knows what’s off limits, and soaks up the rest. He stays beside Genji through it all. Genji loses sleep to dreams of being torn apart, of memories of home, of the things he must do. He lies awake next to the sleeping Jesse and faces the possibility of being sent after Hanzo, next. He can’t decide how he feels about it, and hopes, desperately, that he is never handed that file.

Bad days come more often than good.

The worst days are when he is silent, and does only what he is told. His eyes are dull, but his posture is perfect. His steps are measured, with none of their usual character- not the quiet swagger of his good days, and not the prowl of his bad days, but the perfect gait that reminds Jesse of white walls and concrete floors and a crackling voice from an intercom. Genji rises to no challenges, and doesn’t even acknowledge whoever issues them. He acts like the emotionless weapon the scientists want him to be, and that scares Jesse more than anything. Only he is allowed to know how chaotic Genji feels internally on those nights, when he clings to Jesse like a scrap of driftwood in a shipwreck. He is still silent, but sometimes Jesse feels cold teardrops fall on his chest as Genji’s shoulders shake. He can only offer kind words, but the promises of better days feel hollow as time goes on and nothing improves. One night he tells Genji that it will be okay, that he will be all right, and Genji grits out the first word he has spoken in days, “ _when_.” Jesse falters, says he doesn’t know but it’ll be soon, trust me, someday, and tries to distract him with stories and meandering trains of thought. It helps, but not by much, and all there really is to do is ride it out. Angela isn’t a psychology expert, can’t help with that part, but she does what she can to buy Genji time to find some measure of stability again before being sent away again.

Better days come and go, and worse days come and go, until Genji leaves, and finds a middle ground steady enough to stand on.


End file.
